


Moonshadows

by Paimpont



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Crossover, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paimpont/pseuds/Paimpont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the final battle, Bill Weasley brings a broken Harry Potter to Forks, Washington to begin a "normal" life. But since when has life in Forks ever been normal? Eventual slash HP/EC and BW/JB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming to America

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Two worlds colliding. Hard. Two canons left in the dust. Violence and bad language. Oh, and slash (same-sex romance) in later chapters between Harry Potter and Edward Cullen, with a bit of Bill Weasley/Jacob Black as well. No slash Harry/Bill, though - their relationship is just a friendship.

"Your passports, Mr. Wolfe." Kingsley Shacklebolt held out two British Muggle passports.

Bill Weasley glanced at one of the passports and raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Wolfe? I never knew you had a sense of humor, Kingsley."

"I don't." Kingsley's face was deadpan.

"What name did you come up with for Harry, then?" Bill flipped through the other passport. "Harry Jameson? How very... creative. You put a lot of thought into this, I see."

"Neutral names are always better," said Kingsley calmly. "They make you much harder to trace. You will find that all your papers are flawless; they are in fact produced by our own Muggle government. I have been able to do the Muggle Prime Minister a favor or two since I became Minister of Magic, and in return, he has made sure that the two of you have been provided with new Muggle identities. You will take Harry to a small town in the United States, and you will be able to live there in peaceful Muggle anonymity for as long as you wish."

A slow grin spread over Bill Weasley's scarred face. "Peaceful Muggle anonymity? That sounds like what Harry and I both need right now. A place where no one has heard of The Boy Who Lived. A place where I won't run into my lovely ex-wife and her infuriating new husband every day. A place where no one has ever heard about dark magic or death eaters or Voldemort or werewolves."

"I've got just the place for you." Kingsley handed Bill a stack of thick files. "You and Harry will live in Forks, Washington, a remote American town on the western coast of the continent. You, Bill Wolfe, will work in local law enforcement. The paperwork was a bit tricky, but we got you a work permit for the United States. This pink card right here - which is called a Green Card for some reason I have not yet been able to discover - gives you the right to stay and work there. We have found you a job as deputy sheriff in a quiet rural district. Your boss will be a long-time local resident, Charlie Swan. Pleasant fellow, not too inquisitive. You will arrive with your orphaned nephew, Harry Jameson, who will be attending the local high school in Forks. He will find some of the classes a little odd, but there are some useful notes in the files to help him sort it all out. Apparently, "Algebra" is a sort of Arithmancy without any practical application, "Biology" is a lot like Care of Magical Creatures, but without the risk of injuries, and "Chemistry" is quite a bit like Potions, except that one must remember never to drink the elixirs produced. Harry will of course be a bit behind in the Muggle classes, but we can always blame that on the recent decline of the British Muggle education system. Chief Swan has been informed that you and Harry are in an FBI witness relocation program, and he knows better than to ask a lot of questions."

"I'll be a deputy sheriff?" Bill Weasley grinned broadly. "Cool!"

Something almost resembling a slight smile hovered around Kingsley's mouth for a moment. "Oh, don't get your hopes up, Bill. Forks is a very quiet town. You will probably be spending most of your time issuing parking tickets and looking for lost puppies."

Bill looked a bit disappointed. "But I'll get a gun, right?"

"Of course." Kingsley nodded. "It is America, after all."

...

Hestia Jones joined Kingsley Shacklebolt at the window. They watched as Bill Weasley crammed the files and passports into his dragon hide bag and jumped on a large black motorcycle parked illegally outside the Ministry. The motorcycle started up with a roar, and Bill took off, his long red curls flying behind him as he navigated the busy London traffic at breakneck speed.

Hestia Jones shook her head slightly. "This is never going to work, Kingsley."

"What do you mean?" The Minister's voice was calm and unperturbed.

Hestia sighed. "This. Harry Potter and Bill Weasley, the two most promising young aurors the Ministry has ever had, beginning a new life as ordinary Muggles. Oh, I know they are tired of it all right now, Kingsley, and I know that Harry had a bit of a breakdown last month, but they are heroes, for Merlin's sake. The are not ordinary Muggles, and they never will be. They might enjoy a peaceful life in America for a month or so, but then they will grow restless. They will grow bored. And then what will they do with themselves in... what was the place called?"

"Forks, Washington." Kingsley looked steadily out at the hectic London traffic.

Hestia frowned. "Forks, Washington... Now, where have I heard that name before?"

The large man by her side shrugged. "I couldn't say, Hestia. It's not a particularly well-known town."

"No, I..." Hestia broke off suddenly. She looked up at the Minister, a curious expression on her face. "Wait a minute. Forks, Washington? That was a name that came up in the Riddle files, wasn't it?"

"It may have, yes." Kingsley Shacklebolt was still staring intently at the rush-hour traffic. "But that hardly matters now, does it? The Dark Lord is dead. Harry defeated him in the end. The Riddle files have been officially closed."

Hestia Jones' eyes narrowed. "So you are telling me that it is a mere coincidence that Harry Potter and his young mentor are heading to the American town Tom Riddle visited three times in the 1960s, shortly before he became Lord Voldemort?"

"A mere coincidence, yes." Kingsley inclined his head slightly. "Which is why I completely forgot to mention that curious fact to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley - or, as we must now think of them: Mr. Jameson and Mr. Wolfe."

Hestia Jones laughed. "You are a very clever man, Minister. There is one lingering unsolved riddle as far as the Dark Lord is concerned, and you just happen to send the two best aurors the Ministry has ever seen to the very place where the clues may lie hidden. And wasn't there something else about Forks, Washington in the files? Something about some very unusual magical creatures?"

A sudden smile illuminated Kingsley Shacklebolt's dark handsome face. "Well now, we wouldn't want the boys to get too bored, would we?"

...

"Welcome home, Harry!" Bill Weasley looked up at the large, dilapidated house and grinned.

Harry Potter smiled for the first time in months. "It looks almost like the Burrow." He pulled his suitcase out of the boot of Bill's vintage red Jaguar - Kingsley Shacklebolt had been rather generous with their moving expenses- and hauled it through the tangled, overgrown front yard. "I suppose we should do something about the garden eventually."

"Like de-gnoming it, you mean?" Bill glanced around at the profusion of wild brambles, a puzzled expression on his face. "No need for that; there are no gnomes around here. It looks fine to me." He pulled a rusted key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. It swung open with a slow creak, and a faint scent of mold and damp wood drifted towards them. "Oh, look, there is even a little bird's nest in he mail slot. Well, we aren't expecting any mail, are we? This place is going to be perfect!"

Harry smiled to himself. Living a Muggle life with Bill Weasley was going to be very different from living with the Dursleys.

"We should go ahead and get unpacked." Bill dragged his suitcase into the front hall as well and shook the rain out of his red curls. "Chief Swan, my new boss, has invited us both for dinner at his place tonight. His daughter attends the local high school - she will be able to tell you a bit about what to expect when you start school tomorrow." Bill pulled a sleek cell phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket and blinked down at the screen in surprise. "Oh, look, Chief Swan even sent me some directions. How did they get into my phone? Marvelous things, these Muggle phones! I swear they are even better than owls. Well, better than my family's owls, anyway. My father would have died for one of these! Here, Kingsley sent along a phone for you too, Harry. Apparently, there is a way to charm them so that the phone numbers of the people you call the most will show up by themselves, but I haven't quite figured that part out yet."

"I'll help you with that, Bill." Harry accepted his new phone. "I've watched my cousin with his phone often enough - I think I know what to do. Now, what will we do with our wands? We don't want to carry them with us, of course, since we are supposed to be Muggles, but we can't leave those lying around the house either, can we? People would start to wonder."

"Wands? We don't have wands, Harry," said Bill firmly. "We have... sticks. They are part of our decor. Here, watch." He vanished outside for a few moments and returned with a handful of rain-wet twigs from the garden. He put the twigs in an empty vase on the dusty mantelpiece and added the wand he pulled out of his pocket. "See? That looks quite nice, doesn't it? Fleur always said I was rubbish at decorating, but I think I've got a magic touch."

Harry laughed and added his own holly wand to the spiky bouquet on the mantelpiece. "I think you do, Bill."

...

"Welcome to Forks, both of you... Oh." Chief Swan's eyes widened when he saw Bill's fang earring and his dragon hide jacket. "When I heard that you were British and that you had worked in bank security, I expected someone a little more... er, stiff and formal, I guess. Like someone with horned-rimmed glasses and a suit. But your... er... look is probably more appropriate for this area." He shook Bill's hand, still looking rather puzzled.

"Dad!" Charlie Swan's pretty dark-haired daughter Bella sighed deeply. "Never mind him, Mr. Wolfe. Hello, Harry. I'm Bella. Welcome to Forks! I think we'll be in the same year at school. I'm rather new here myself, actually; I just moved here from sunny Arizona to come and live with my dad. Please have a seat - dinner will be ready in a few minutes." She vanished into the kitchen.

Harry could smell something delicious; it reminded him of Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and he felt a small pang of nostalgia. Was there a nice maternal Mrs. Swan in the kitchen, perhaps? No, no such person materialized.

"Don't worry, Bella is the one who is cooking dinner tonight." Chief Swan offered Bill a bottle of beer, and Bill accepted gratefully. "I can't cook a thing myself; I used to eat cold beans straight out of the can before Bella moved back here."

Harry glanced curiously around the police chief's home. It was rather plain, but cozy. He suspected that Bella must be the one keeping it tidy; Chief Swan himself looked like the sort of man who was accustomed to dropping things on the floor and letting them stay there until they grew roots in the carpet.

Bella reappeared and offered Harry a can of something called root beer, and Harry sipped it hesitantly. He had tasted Muggle soft drinks at Mrs. Figg's house, but they had been very different from this. This didn't taste half bad; the flavor was sort of a cross between ginger ale and butterbeer. Bella smiled when she saw that he liked it, and for a moment, there was something about her that almost reminded Harry of Ginny. Harry closed his eyes. He did not want to be reminded of Ginny. In fact, he didn't want to think about Ginny ever again.

"Cooking? Oh damn, I forgot all about that! We are going to need meals at home, aren't we Harry?" Bill was beginning to look a bit worried. "I'm afraid I have no idea how to... what do you call it?... light a stove? I suppose we will have to find a restaurant or something. My Mum always cooked when I lived at home, and when I moved to London, I had a house el... person come and prepare my meals. And when I married Fleur, she wouldn't even let me near the stove, of course."

"You're married?" Chief Swan looked curiously at Bill. "At your age? How old are you anyway? Twenty-five?"

Bill flushed. "Twenty-seven. I was married, for less than a year, to the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life. She left me last year. I don't think I quite... lived up to her standards."

Charlie Swan nodded sympathetically and sighed into his beer. "I know the feeling, Bill."

"Don't worry, Bill. I know how to cook a few things," Harry glanced reassuringly at Bill. "It won't be like Fleur's gourmet food, but it will be edible. You like eggs, right? And bacon?"

"Dinner's ready!" called Bella from the kitchen. "There's salad, and I made beef stew for the three of you and a veggie burger for myself. Dad said you weren't vegetarians."

"Well, I sort of assumed you weren't..." Chief Swan looked a bit worried for a moment. "Since you are in law enforcement. But maybe I was wrong."

Bella groaned. "Seriously, Dad?"

Bill grinned. "Oh, we are not vegetarians, Chief. No need to worry. Beef stew will be great. In fact, I find myself craving meat most of the time."

Charlie Swan smiled. "Do you, now? You know, I think we'll get along very well, you and I, Bill. We seem to have a lot in common. Do you hunt at all?"

"Hunt?" Bill's hand moved involuntarily to the long, red scars on his cheek. "I don't have a lot of experience with hunting, Chief, but I would like to learn."

"All right, then." Chief Swan looked very pleased. "Perhaps you can join me and my friend some time. Have another beer, Bill, and let's dig in."

...

When the last remnants of the excellent dinner were consumed, there was a sudden sharp knock on the door.

"Ah, there they are!" Chief Swan looked up. "I invited an old friend of mine and his kid to stop by and meet you after dinner. We don't really have enough space here in the kitchen to have a lot of people over for dinner at once. I think you will like them, Bill. Here's my old pal Billy Black, now. Give me a hand with his wheelchair, will you, Bill? Careful, the rain makes the front steps really slick. You'll get used to it soon enough, son; it's always raining around here."

Harry glanced up curiously as an elderly man in a wheelchair and a teenage boy entered the kitchen. Black? For a moment, he wondered, absurdly, if they were somehow distantly related to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. But the old man in the wheelchair was far from a haughty pure-blood wizard; he was dressed in worn Muggle clothing, and his kind, wrinkled face bore no resemblance to Sirius' family. The dark-haired boy with him didn't look like he gave a damn about blood purity either.

"This is Billy and his son Jacob." Chief Swan handed Billy a beer. "This is Bill Wolfe, my new deputy, and his nephew Harry. They come from Britain."

Billy and Jacob Black stared at Bill.

"Bill... Wolfe, you say?" There was a sharp note in the older man's voice. "That's... interesting." His bright black eyes scrutinized Bill's face. "That's a nasty scar you've got there, boy. Looks like it was made by a wild animal of some sort."

"Oh, that?" Bill had practiced his story well beforehand. "Family dog attacked me a few years back. He was getting older, and he wasn't quite right in the head any more. We had to put him down. Rather sad, really."

"Family dog, eh?" Billy Black gave a deep chuckle. "Interesting story, Mr. Wolfe. You don't happen to have any Native American blood in you, do you?"

"Native American?" Bill looked terribly puzzled. "No, I wouldn't think so. My family's British. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. Just a stray thought." Billy Black smiled and took a sip of his beer. "Welcome to Forks, son. I think you will meet some interesting people here. Kindred spirits, you might say..."


	2. Boys Will Be Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Eventual slash. Violence to canons and people. In this chapter: Edward-bashing (literally).

Harry pushed the door to the classroom open. Back in school. He had defeated the Dark Lord and destroyed his horcruxes, he had been hailed as the savior of the wizarding world, and he had survived a year of auror training under Kingsley Shacklebolt. But now, Harry Potter was back in school... Harry sighed. Hadn't he had enough school to last him for a lifetime? He suddenly wished he could have gone off with Bill in the patrol car to rescue lost puppies instead.

The students glanced up at him as he entered. Quite a few smiled at him. Harry smiled back. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. This, he reminded himself, was not Hogwarts. No sneering Slytherin students, no cauldrons filled with sinister potions, no two-faced teachers with turbans. Just pleasant, ordinary teenagers and plain, boring Muggle textbooks.

"Welcome to Forks, Mr. Jameson." The science teacher, a thin balding little man with thick glasses, beamed at Harry. "Everyone, this is Harry Jameson, a new student from England. I understand that your science curriculum may have been a little different from ours, Mr. Jameson, but I'm sure you'll adjust pretty soon. For now, you can work with Edward Cullen as your lab partner; he will be able to explain things to you as we go along."

Harry found his seat next to a pale handsome boy with wild bronze-colored hair. Harry noted with some satisfaction that the boy's hair was almost as messy as his own. A stack of strange little glass squares were lying on the work table they were meant to share, and the boy was already making elaborate notes in his science journal.

"Hello," whispered Harry to the boy. "I'm Harry."

The boy froze. He stared at Harry, a strange expression in his large dark eyes, something halfway between malevolence and... terror?

"What?" Harry looked curiously at the boy. He couldn't imagine what he had done to inspire such instant fear and revulsion. True, a few of Voldemort's death eaters had looked at him like that towards the end, but this boy didn't look like a death eater. His face, behind the mask of frozen terror, was as lovely as the most innocent angel's. The sleeves of his silk shirt were casually rolled up, and no dark mark marred his flawless pale skin.

"Are you all right?" Harry leaned instinctively closer, and the boy recoiled from him.

"Please get... get away from me..." the boy whispered. "You are much too close. Oh God, your scent..."

Too close? Oh, for Merlin's sake! There were more than two feet between them! Surely, that was an acceptable amount of personal space, even in America?

Harry shook his head slightly. "Erm, sure. I'll stay over on this side of the table, then. Edward, right?"

The boy nodded slowly. His glance was turned away from Harry now, and he seemed to have a hard time breathing.

"What are we supposed to do with these?" Harry studied the small glass squares on the table.

"We have to identify the different phases," said the boy curtly.

Faces? All Harry could see were little blobs on glass, but the boy sounded like he knew what he was doing.

The boy put one of the glass squares inside an instrument Harry was fairly sure was a microscope. "Anaphase," he muttered without looking at Harry. "You can check it if you want."

"Sure." Harry peered curiously into the microscope. The blob had turned into a beautiful luminous pattern, something halfway between a stained glass window and a multi-colored cockroach cluster. He shifted in his seat to get a better look.

Next to Harry, the boy made a small strangled sound.

"What?" Harry glanced up.

The boy closed his eyes. He looked like he was in pain. "For God's sake, get away from me," he breathed. "I can't stand being this close to you." He covered his nose with his hand.

Harry looked coldly at the boy. Face like an angel, expensive clothes, an instant and inexplicable dislike for Harry... This was beginning to seem terribly familiar. Even Harry, who knew little about clothes and cared even less, could tell that the boy's artfully torn jeans had probably set him back hundreds of galleons. Was Edward Cullen somehow an American Muggle reincarnation of Draco Malfoy? Harry sighed. Just his luck, being seated next to some sort of rich pureblood Muggle too arrogant to mingle with the likes of Harry.

Harry could feel his temper rising. He leaned forward. "Do you have a problem with me, Cullen?"

Edward Cullen's black eyes widened. "Just... just leave me alone," he whispered. "You can copy all my notes if you want, just stay away from me, please..."

Harry copied down the notes in grim silence.

What the hell? Harry winced as he suddenly became aware of a sensation - much too familiar from his failed occlumency classes with Snape - of someone trying to enter his thoughts. A legilimens? He glanced quickly over at Edward Cullen, who was looking steadily out the window. Could a Muggle be a legilimens? Yes, the mind trying to enter his thoughts was definitely Edward's. Well, Harry may have had a hard time resisting Snape's unwelcome intrusions into his thoughts, but now that Voldemort's horcrux was gone from his soul, controlling his mind had suddenly become a lot easier. Harry drew a deep breath and pushed Edward Cullen's mind out of his thoughts with all his might.

Edward nearly fell out of his chair. The pale boy stared at Harry, an expression of complete incomprehension in his dark eyes. 'What... just happened?" he whispered.

Harry shrugged. "You seem to have a problem with your balance, Cullen."

Edward scowled at him, and Harry kept copying his notes in icy silence for the rest of the lesson.

...

As soon as the bell rang, Edward rose to his feet and dashed out of the classroom. But Harry caught up with him in the corridor. He marched straight up to the bronze-haired boy, who was standing with a small group of other fashionable students. Edward Cullen's friends looked just like him, pale and aristocratic and almost alarmingly beautiful. If Harry didn't know better, he could have sworn that they all had Veela blood in them.

"Meet me behind the school after classes today, Cullen," said Harry curtly.

Edward Cullen turned and stared blankly at Harry. "Meet you?" he whispered. "What... what for?"

"What for?" Harry glared at him. "You seem to have a problem with me, Cullen. I suggest that we settle it outside, after school. Are you in or what?"

"You... want to fight me?" Was it Harry's imagination, or did a shadow of a smile brush over Edward's pale face for a moment? "No. I can't fight you. That's out of the question."

More people were gathering around them now, listening curiously. Harry had the distinct impression that he wasn't the only boy in school who felt like punching Edward Cullen.

"Why is that out of the question, Cullen? Afraid you'll lose?" Harry stepped closer, and Edward jerked his head back abruptly.

"No," said Edward Cullen softly. "I don't want to fight you because I could easily end up killing you."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? I've been in a fight or two before."

"Looks like it!" said a blond boy with a round face cheerfully. "Cool scar!"

Edward looked coldly at the boy. "Stay out of this, Mike. Listen, Harry - I can't fight you. If I were to attack you, your life would be in grave danger."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so certain of that!" One of the pale girls in Edward's clique lit up in a sudden smile. She was looking rather curiously at Harry, but there was no malice in her dark eyes. "In fact, I'm not at all sure you would win this fight, Edward."

"What?" Edward turned and stared at her, aghast. "Are you out of your mind, Alice? You know I can't fight him. You of all people must know he wouldn't stand a chance!"

"Actually, no, I don't know that at all, Edward." There was a hint of laughter in the girl's voice, and her eyes glittered. "I think you could be in for a surprise. The first of many..."

"Are you serious, Alice?" One of the other pale boys grinned. "Well, that ought to be interesting. Come on, Edward! This I want to see!"

Edward groaned and buried his head in his hands.

...

The fight started out nice and slow. The two boys circled around each other on the rain-slicked asphalt, eyes locked. Almost all the students in the entire school were there to watch, but one of Edward's friends, a golden-haired boy named Jasper, had convinced everyone to stay far back and give the two boys enough room. Edward looked positively dangerous now; there was almost a scarlet gleam in his eyes as Harry approached him.

"Run away, Harry!" Edward breathed as they drew closer to one another. "Run away now, before it's too late!"

Yeah, right. Harry wasn't running anywhere. He may have cursed Kingsley to Little Hangleton and back during the most grueling moments of his auror training, but right now, Harry appreciated every single one-handed push-up and fifty-mile run through the Forbidden Forest Kingsley had put him through. Harry did not have his wand with him, but he knew that even without magic, he was more than strong enough to beat up an average seventeen year old boy.

The only problem, however, was that Edward Cullen did not appear to be an average seventeen year old boy.

Harry dealt him a right hook that should have sent the other boy flying through the afternoon drizzle like a rogue bludger, but Edward seemed to vanish a fraction of a second before Harry's fist hit his jaw, only to reappear right behind Harry a moment later. Harry spun around, and a stone-hard fist punched him right in the nose. Harry could feel the blood flowing freely down his face, and he let out an angry curse.

All right, Edward Cullen was fast. Harry had to give him that. Merlin, that boy would make one hell of a Seeker!

Strangely, Edward seemed hypnotized by the sight of Harry's blood. He stood frozen in the afternoon rain and stared, wide-eyed, as Harry wiped the blood off on his sleeve. Then Edward drew a deep, shaky breath, and a hoarse whisper escaped him: "This is the end, Harry... Your blood is setting my very being on fire. I have no choice; this is beyond my control. I will tear you apart now, and then I will devour you..."

Harry punched Edward in the face with all his might. The bones in his hand made a sickening crunching sound, but Edward didn't even wince. He reached out and brushed a hand slowly, almost seductively, through Harry's hair. Something flickered crimson in his eyes, and he whispered: "I will consume you, Harry, body and soul..." Harry felt icy hands, impossibly strong, tighten around his neck, and he gasped for breath.

From somewhere far away, he heard a voice: "Alice! We have to stop this!"

But the girl called Alice responded: "No, we don't. Just let them be, Rosalie."

The next moment, Edward flew head first across the school yard, flung through the air by a wave of magic so powerful that he actually made a dent in the rock he hit when he landed. Before Harry knew what was happening, he found himself standing over Edward, pounding him with all his might. He registered vaguely in the back of his mind that Edward's body was harder and colder than any human body should be, but Harry pushed the thought aside and kept punching. He hadn't performed accidental magic like this since the day he blew up Aunt Marge, but he could recognize it for what it was: Wild, unrestrained magic coursed through his veins and made him see red. He didn't stop until Edward slumped down on the ground with a low moan.

Harry stepped back, clutching his aching hand. A sudden icy fear rose in him. Why wasn't the boy moving? "Edward? Are you... all right?"

The bronze-haired boy opened his eyes slowly. He wiped a few drops of blood off his face with his sleeve and stared at them, mesmerized. "But that's... that's my blood." He sounded incredulous. "But you are human. How could a mere human do this?"

Harry stared at Edward. "Yes, I'm... human. I sort of assumed that you were, too." He glanced around the school yard. Everyone else was still at the other side of the yard, gaping at them with open mouths. "But maybe you aren't, Cullen. What are you, then? Some sort of bloody-" Harry glanced at the pale, much too lovely face, and his words suddenly seemed stuck in his throat. Demon. He wanted to say demon. But when he looked at Edward, he couldn't remember the word any more. Instead, another formed itself on his lips: "Some sort of bloody angel?"

Edward shook his head slowly. "Not exactly," he whispered.

...

"You broke my son's nose?" The pale, handsome emergency room doctor wiped the blood carefully off Harry's face. "That's pretty impressive. Now, let's take a look at that fractured hand of yours, shall we?"

"Your son?" Harry flushed. His glance fell on the doctor's name tag. "Dr. Carlisle Cullen." Oh, great... For some strange reason, however, the doctor seemed more amused that angry.

Edward sat silently on a chair in the corner of the room, looking out the window.

"Perhaps you should leave the room while I get Harry cleaned up, Edward," suggested Dr. Cullen mildly.

Harry sighed. "It's all right. He can stay. I'm sorry, Edward - I shouldn't have let my temper run away with me like that."

"Your temper?" whispered Edward. "I'm the one who lost all control, Harry. I'm sorry..." He turned his face away quickly.

"Well, Edward did break Harry's nose first," the boy called Mike put in reasonably. He was the one who had driven both Harry and Edward to the emergency room, at Bella's insistence. Bella, who had also come along, was looking fairly worried, but Mike appeared to be enjoying himself immensely.

"Harry!" The door was flung open, and Bill burst through the door, followed by Chief Swan. "Harry? I just heard what happened. Are you all right?" Bill's eyes were wide with fear.

"He is fine," said Dr. Cullen calmly. His glance lingered on Bill. "It appears that your nephew and my son got into a bit of a scuffle at school, and they both ended up with a broken nose. Nothing to worry about - they will both be fine."

Chief Swan's face split into a wide grin. "Harry broke Edward Cullen's nose? That's ... ah... too bad. Ah, well. Boys will be boys, I suppose." He apperared to react to the news of the schoolyard fight with almost as much enthusiasm as Mike.

"It was freaking awesome!" Mike sounded happy. "Like watching one of those Chinese Kung Fu movies."

Bill's glance flickered nervously to Dr. Cullen. "I am so terribly sorry about what happened, Dr. Cullen. Is your son all right?"

Dr. Cullen smiled. "Oh, he will be all right, Mr...?"

"Wolfe." Bill shook the doctor's hand eagerly.

Dr. Cullen raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch. "Wolfe? That's an interesting name..." His golden eyes lingered on Bill's scarred face. "A pleasure to meet you."

"There won't be any charges pressed, will there?" Chief Swan looked doubtfully at the doctor.

Bill slipped his hand quickly into the pocket of his dragon hide jacket, and his lips moved almost imperceptibly. All at once, Harry felt the pain in his nose vanish, and the throbbing sensation in his hand as well. Harry grinned. Thanks, Bill!

The next moment, Edward was touching his nose gingerly as well, a puzzled expression on his face. He stared at Bill in incomprehension.

"Charges? Oh, no, certainly not from our side." The doctor glanced at Harry's now unbroken nose for a long moment.

"Not from our side either, of course," said Bill hastily. "Just a bit of a schoolyard shuffle, it sounds like. No harm done."

"Exactly." Dr. Cullen regarded Harry with a little smile. "As Chief Swan said, boys will be boys."


	3. "He's More Myself Than I am"

Edward Cullen didn't come to school the next day, or the one after that. He was probably still recovering from the shock of having been punched by a boy without designer clothes, or by having his broken nose magically fixed by a deputy sheriff. Whatever. Harry didn't give a damn.

Well, that wasn't completely true. He could have used Edward's help labeling those funny glass squares in biology class again. Harry tried looking at the textbook, but it was full of long words more meaningless than ancient runes. Fortunately, some girl named Jessica slid into the seat next to him and helped him out while giving him a longwinded breathless analysis of everything that was wrong with the Cullen family. She seemed so pleased that Harry had broken Edward's nose that Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that Edward's nose was now as good as new.

"And did you know that all the Cullen kids are adopted?" Jessica muttered in Harry's ear.

"Adopted? Edward's an orphan, then?" Harry glanced up from the microscope in surprise. Somehow, being an orphan made Edward seem slightly more tolerable. An orphan with messy hair. Perhaps he wasn't all bad.

According to Jessica, who had an uncanny ability to talk at dizzying speed and write at the same time, the other elegant students in Edward's little clique were his adopted siblings.

"And wait till you hear this - they are all dating each other!" breathed Jessica. "I mean, gross, right? I know they are not really related, but still... The big muscular one, Emmet, is dating Rosalie - that's the blonde one, and Jasper is dating Alice, the slim dark-haired one who looks like a pixie."

"Like a pixie?" Harry frowned slightly, recalling the screeching electric blue Cornish pixies he had encountered in Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. "I don't think she looks much like a pixie, actually."

Apparently, this was the right thing to say, for Jessica beamed at him. "You don't think so? Well, maybe not."

"So who's Edward dating then?" Harry copied the notes that Jessica had written out in her neat, girly handwriting. Seriously, did she have to draw little flowers over all the i's? Whatever mitosis was, it looked much too dainty that way. Harry read the description of mitosis in the book. As far as he could make out, mitosis was when a cell decided to make little tiny horcruxes of itself inside your body. Kind of creepy. Harry drew a couple of experimental little lightning bolts over his own i's in mitosis. Yes, that was more like it.

"Edward?" There was a slightly chilly note in Jessica's voice now. "Oh, he's not dating anyone. I suppose he considers himself much too good for any of the girls around here. Poor Bella was quite smitten with him for a while, but Edward just ignored her. It would take some sort of magic for him to fall in love with anyone."

...

Harry's favorite class by far was gym. He couldn't imagine why they never thought of having a class like this at Hogwarts. There had been flying lessons, of course, and Quidditch practice for those who made the teams, but nothing like the brilliant concept the Muggles called gym. Apparently, in gym class you actually got graded on sensible and useful things like how fast you could run and how well you could catch a ball. Perhaps Harry's report card wouldn't look completely bleak after all.

This week, they were playing a delightful Muggle game called volleyball. Harry had vaguely heard about it before, but he had never played. But as it turned out, he was a natural at it. Six years of playing Quidditch, a year roughing it in the forest, a duel to the death with a dark wizard, followed by a year of gruelling auror training - yeah, Harry was ready to play high school volleyball!

The coach looked like he had seen an angel from above when Harry flung himself through the air and returned the first serve with a volley that gave a player on the other team a serious nosebleed. And by the end of class, the coach looked at Harry much like Bellatrix had gazed at Voldemort. Harry was made captain of the volleyball team on the spot. Harry wondered vaguely if Edward Cullen played volleyball at all. He would have liked to give Edward another nosebleed.

...

Harry was surrounded by his new friends at lunch. Everyone seemed really nice and friendly, and he tried hard to remember everyone's names: Mike, Jessica, Bella of course, Eric, Ben, Angela... Everyone was chatting and laughing, and Harry enjoyed himself a great deal, even if lunch was terribly strange. It wasn't exactly Hogwarts fare. Perhaps the cook was new at the job, for the students were served some very odd sandwiches made of mashed nuts and jelly on sticky pieces of white bread. What a strange idea for a sandwich! House elves would have been fired for something like that at Hogwarts. But Harry was hungry enough after playing volleyball to have eaten one of Hagrid's rock cakes, so he gulped down the bizarre sandwich. He noticed that his friends did the same. Perhaps they didn't want the cook's feelings to get hurt.

Edward's adopted siblings were sitting at a table by themselves, neither eating nor drinking. Harry couldn't blame them really; they probably didn't care for mashed nut sandwiches either. The four of them cast occasional curious glances in Harry's direction. Perhaps they were wondering about Edward's broken nose healing up so quickly. Harry really had to remind Bill to be careful about using magic in front or Muggles like that.

If Edward's even a Muggle... Harry shook the strange thought out of his head and went to get another root beer. Of course Edward Cullen was a Muggle. What else could he possibly be?

...

While he waited for Bill to come home, Harry cooked dinner. Bacon, sausages, fried eggs, toast and tomatoes. Perfect. If he failed all his classes except gym, maybe they'd give him a job as a cook at Forks High. No sign of Bill yet. Oh, well, he could always cast an Incendio or something on the food when Bill got home.

Now what should he do? Homework? Harry glanced longingly out the window, but it was raining again. Too wet to go for a walk. Homework it was, then. Hermione would have been proud of him.

Harry pulled out his English homework. He was a little behind on the reading, since he had arrived after the beginning of the school year. They had to read a novel called Wuthering Heights and write four pages about it. Well, anything was better than potions. Harry did a quick calculation in his head. Four pages? That would be about... what? Forty inches? Merlin, that was quite a lot. Where was Hermione when you needed her?

Harry sighed and opened the book. Fortunately, the story wasn't so bad once he got into it. Harry rather liked the main character, Heathcliff, who was an orphan. That Hindley boy he grew up with sounded a lot like Dudley. Luckily, Heathcliff's adopted father had the good sense to ship the obnoxious Hindley off to school and keep Heathcliff at home. But then Heathcliff got mixed up with this girl, Catherine, who sounded like a terrifying mix of a clingy Ginny Weasley and snooty Narcissa Malfoy, and his life went downhill from there. Heathcliff even married another girl to get away from her, but that didn't work so well either. Fortunately, Catherine died at the end, but by then Heathcliff was too messed up in the head to enjoy his remaining time in peace and quiet. Kind of sad, really. Heathcliff even had a nice house in the country; he could have been quite happy if he had only kept away from that madwoman in the first place. Hmm - maybe that would make a nice thesis statement? Harry pulled out his pen and started writing.

...

"There you are!" Harry had just finished what he hoped was a brilliant essay when Bill came in, shaking the rain out of his long red curls. "Long day at the office?"

"You have no idea." Bill sank down at the kitchen table and started eating the stone-cold food. "Merlin, do I have things to tell you! Great dinner, Harry! Thanks for cooking."

"We could heat it up-?" suggested Harry, but Bill just shrugged and kept wolfing down the food.

Harry decided to eat his own dinner cold as well. It was still pretty good. "Fight a lot of crime today, Bill?"

Bill grinned. "In Forks? Yeah, right. Not a single puppy unaccounted for, and the only people speeding out there were Chief Swan and myself. We drove around in the sheriff's car for a while, looking for trouble, but there was none to be found. Eventually, we gave up and headed back to the office, and we spent the rest of the day filing."

"Filing?" Harry stared at him. "You stayed in the office until..." He glanced at his watch. "...Until eleven o'clock at night, filing?"

Bill reached for another sausage. "Not exactly, Harry." There was suppressed excitement in his voice. "I stayed there long after Chief Swan had gone home for the day, reading some of the old files. There are files in that office going back to the fifties and sixties."

"Unsolved murders?" Harry suggested hopefully.

Bill smiled. "Well, there were a couple of those too, but the case that caught my attention was a speeding ticket. From 1963."

Harry blinked. "Er... Okay-? How fast did they drive? 200 miles an hour?" Surely, there had to be some point to this story?

Bill tipped back on his chair and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "73 miles per hour. In a 50 zone."

Harry took another bite of cold egg. "Okay. I give up. What's the punch line?"

Bill took a deep sip of his beer. "The driver was let go with a warning. Normally, he would have been given a fine, but the police officer decided to be generous since the driver was a visiting foreigner who may have been confused by the American signs..."

"Bill?" Harry said gently. "I don't mean to be rude, but why in Merlin's name was this interesting enough to keep you at the office?"

Bill grinned broadly. "Ah, yes. I thought you'd be curious about that. The case itself is, as you will no doubt agree, completely uninteresting. If it weren't for one curious little fact..."

"What fact? Come on, Bill. Spit it out!"

Bill drew a deep breath. "Well, Harry, here's the thing. There is a reason why I spent a whole evening in the office, looking for any other references, any at all, to the speeding foreigner. Unsuccessfully, I may add - he only got a single speeding ticket." Bill's eyes glittered.

"And?" Harry was growing impatient now.

"The driver," said Bill quietly, "was an Englishman, Harry. And Englishman by the name of Riddle. Tom Riddle."

"What?" Harry dropped his fork. "Tom Riddle? But that's... That's got to be a coincidence, right? Surely, there is more than one Englishman by that name?"

"His birth date," said Bill, finishing off his beer in one long gulp, "was listed as December 31, 1926."

Harry sat completely still for a long moment. Then he whispered: "He was here? In Forks? That's a strange coincidence..."

Bill met his glance. "Isn't it, Harry? I had wondered why Kingsley chose to send us to this remote little town, of all places. Perhaps there is more going on under the surface in Forks than anyone ever suspected."

...

"I have read many different interpretations of Wuthering Heights over the years," said Mr. Mason, the English teacher, peering at Harry over his glasses, "but your reading of the text, Mr. Jameson, is... well, it's..." His voice drifted off. "Perhaps your literature curriculum was very different in England?" he suggested hopefully.

"Probably," muttered Harry.

Mr. Mason put the paper, with a big red F on it, gently down on Harry's desk. "Perhaps you need a little help, Mr. Jameson. I would like to see you re-write this essay, but you really need a little help in order to do so. I would like to assign you a tutor."

"Okay-?" Harry looked doubtfully up at the teacher. A tutor? Someone giving him private lessons? Uncomfortable memories of occlumency lessons with Snape began to rise in his mind.

"Fortunately," continued Mr. Mason, "I see that Mr. Cullen has decided to grace us with his presence again today. Mr. Cullen, I would like you to meet with Mr. Jameson for a few afternoons this week and see if you can explain Wuthering Heights to him. Your own exquisite essay, Mr. Cullen, which you emailed me in your absence, shows that you have understood that this great and tragic novel is a love story."

"You want me to help him?" Edward looked even paler than usual for a moment, and there was a hint of panic in his amber eyes.

Wait, amber eyes? Harry could have sworn Edward's eyes were dark before, almost black? Harry glanced suspiciously at Edward, but Edward turned his face away from him.

"No," said Edward firmly. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Mason, but I'm afraid I'm unable to do so. My schedule..."

"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Cullen." Mr. Mason's voice was kind, but firm. "This is Forks, Washington. No one's schedule is too full for a little tutoring."

"I can help Harry, Mr. Mason," offered Mike cheerfully. "If Edward's too busy..."

But Mr. Mason shook his head. "Thank you, Mr. Newton. But I'm afraid that I cannot allow that. Quite frankly, I'm not sure I want to know what you and Mr. Jameson between you could make out of Wuthering Heights."

Edward sighed. "All right. I suppose I can stop by Harry's house this afternoon. Will Mr... er... Wolfe be home, Harry? Your uncle?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know. Depends on whether there are any sinister crimes afoot in Forks, I suppose."

"Sinister crimes?" Mr. Mason laughed. "That's right, your uncle is the new deputy sheriff, isn't he, Harry? Well, I'm afraid there won't be much crime-fighting for him to do here. Nothing ever happens in Forks."

...

"So this story is about love?" Harry glanced doubtfully at Edward, who was perched at the edge of a chair in Harry and Bill's living room. Edward was being very pleasant and polite this afternoon, even if he refused to meet Harry's glance. "Are you sure? I mean, I know that poor Heathcliff can't get this Catherine girl out of his head, but they are all wrong for each other."

A slight smile brushed over Edward's pale, handsome face now. "Of course they are all wrong for each other, Harry. That's what makes the story of their love so heart-wrenching. Sometimes people fall helplessly in love with someone who is all wrong for them, even if they know that there can be no happy ending for them." A curious look passed over his face, and he glanced quickly down at the carpet.

"Oh." Harry pondered this for a while.

"Have... have you never been in love?" asked Edward softly.

Harry could feel his cheeks growing hot. "Well, there was this girl back in England who really wanted me to propose to her. She was quite upset when I didn't. And then there was this other girl, who cried when I kissed her. But I don't think I was in love with either one. How do you tell, anyway? If you're in love, I mean?"

"Have you never had the feeling," said Edward quietly, "that another person was a part of your soul?"

Harry stared at him. "A part of... my soul? Yes, I've experienced that... It was rather terrifying." The memory of Voldemort's horcrux still made him wince.

"So you know that feeling, then?" Edward looked at him curiously. "Well, then perhaps you can understand how Heathcliff and Catherine feel about each other. Look at the paragraph right here, where Catherine says about Heathcliff: "He's more myself than I am." That's exactly what she is talking about; he is a part of her soul, whether she wants it or not."

Harry read the passage in the book slowly. So Heathcliff was Catherine's horcrux? Or was it the other way around? Well, the story was finally beginning to make a little bit of sense now.

"Why did you come here to Forks?" asked Edward abruptly, his amber gaze lingering on Harry's face. "It's an odd place for two foreigners to settle down."

"Long story," muttered Harry. "I... I don't think you would believe me if I told you."

Edward smiled slightly. "I can believe a great many things, Harry. Try me."

Harry shook his head firmly. "I don't think so. Bill and I are in a... a witness protection program. We are not supposed to talk about the past."

Edward gazed at him for a long moment. "What are you, Harry?" he whispered. "I know that you are human, but from what I saw in the schoolyard, your strength is far beyond that of a normal human boy..."

"So is yours," said Harry softly.

"Can you tell me what you are?" Edward reached out and brushed a finger slowly over Harry's scar. "And how you got this curious scar?"

Harry felt a strange shiver at his spine. "No," he breathed. "Can you tell me what you are?"

Edward shook his head slowly.

Harry drew a deep breath. "Can't you at least tell me why you hate me so much?" His voice came out as a whisper.

"Hate you?" There was a curious expression in Edward's golden eyes. "You... you think I hate you?"

"Well, you told me to stay away from youin class, and you weren't exactly enthusiastic about becoming my tutor."

"Right." Edward looked down. "I... I don't hate you, Harry. Far from it. It's just that... Well, I'm dangerous company for you, that's all."

"Dangerous company?" Harry stared at him. "Dangerous how? It's not like I can't look after myself, you know. I've been around rather dangerous people before."

"Have you, Harry?" Edward studied him gravely. "You uncle... Mr. Wolfe. Is he...?"

"Is he what?"

Edward gazed at him for a moment in silence. Then he whispered: "Perhaps you will think I am mad for asking. But there is something about him I do not understand. It's familiar and yet... not. Harry, is your uncle a werewolf?"


	4. An Open Book

"Is my uncle a werewolf?" Harry stared at Edward. "Er... Not exactly, no."

"I'm sorry." A slight smile brushed over Edward's impossibly beautiful face. "That was a terribly silly question, wasn't it?"

"A... a little bit, yes." Harry attempted an amused chuckle, but he could hear that it didn't come out quite right. Merlin, this boy knew about werewolves? Was the American Ministry of Magic that sloppy about keeping the magical word secret from the Muggles? Perhaps that infamous incident with the drunk house elves who crashed the enchanted flying merry-go-round in Roswell wasn't an isolated indiscretion in the American wizarding community after all? Or perhaps Edward was some sort of wizard?

Harry could sense Edward's gaze lingering on his face, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Harry?" said Edward suddenly. "My question did not appear completely absurd to you, did it? You didn't just laugh it off right away when I asked, and you didn't question my sanity, as most people would have." He leaned forward and put his hand on Harry's arm. His touch felt strangely cool against Harry's warm skin.

"Have you ever met any werewolves, then, Harry?" Edward's voice was as soft as a breath of wind, and strangely mesmerizing. Sweet Merlin, this Muggle boy had to have had a Veela ancestor in his lineage somewhere, to be able to send a shiver down your spine like that just by a slight touch and a few muttered words. Harry looked into Edward's luminous amber-gold eyes. Almost immediately, he realized that he should not have done that. Merlin, those eyes! A Veela? If only! This boy was no mere run-of-the-mill Veela, but rather, it seemed to Harry at that moment, some sort of arch-Veela who had just Imperiused him hard after feeding him a bucketful of Snape's strongest truth serum. And wasn't there a touch of mesmer in that glance, too?

"I've met a few werewolves, yes." Too late, Harry realized that was his own voice speaking. Uh oh. Seriously, how did Edward do that?

"You've met a few werewolves?" Edward looked gravely at him.

"Have you?" asked Harry quickly, trying desperately to tear his glance away from those hypnotic eyes. He muttered a Finite Incantatem under his breath, just in case, but it didn't help at all; he was still spellbound by the golden gaze. "Met any werewolves, I mean?"

Edward smiled ever so slightly. "Yes," he said quietly. "I have. But your uncle is not a werewolf, then? There is something about his scar..."

Harry swallowed, still unable to look away from Edward, whose eyes were all heat and molten gold. "Bill was bitten by a werewolf once, that's all." Seriously, why was he telling Edward this? They had come to America to get away from it all - not to tell it all to the first golden-eyed schoolboy who came along. Was there some sort of veritaserum leak into the city water supply in Forks or something?

Edward's mouth set in a sudden hard line. "Your uncle was bitten by a werewolf? He was lucky to survive! Those brutes! Attacking humans! Did someone... get the beast?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. My best friend back at home, Ron, killed him during the battle... No! Why am I telling you this? I'm not supposed to say any of this. It's that thing you do with your eyes; it's making me all lightheaded and funny..." He rubbed his forehead warily.

"Sorry!" Edward laughed. "I'll try not to do it." His smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "Your friend killed a werewolf? That's pretty impressive. Is your friend... human, then?"

"Ron?" Harry smiled slightly at the thought of a superhuman Ron. "Yes, very human. Just like me. Listen, I don't actually think I should be talking about this..."

Edward brushed Harry's hair away from his forehead, and his smoldering amber gaze lingered on Harry's scar. "What about your scar, Harry? Is that from a werewolf as well?" His fingers felt like a brush of ice against Harry's skin, and for some reason, the slight touch made Harry shiver.

"No," Harry whispered. "The one who gave me my scar was no werewolf."

"Human, then?" Edward's eyes were burning their way straight into Harry's soul now.

"Human?" Harry tried to look away, but he still couldn't. Or maybe wouldn't? It felt strangely pleasurable, to lose yourself in this boy's eyes like this... "Yes. No. I don't know... The one who attacked me was human once, but he had long since lost his humanity."

"He was human, but then he lost his humanity?" Why was there a sudden note of panic in Edward's voice? "He had become... something else, then? When he attacked you?"

Harry nodded. "He wanted to become immortal, you see, and so he made himself into an inhuman monster, an unnatural and evil creature- What's wrong, Edward?"

Edward turned abruptly away from Harry and rose to his feet. "Nothing." His voice was almost inaudible. "I have heard of vile creatures like the one you describe. Is he still after you, then, Harry? The vam- I mean, the monstrous creature who gave you the scar?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "No. He is dead."

"Good." For some reason, Edward looked down now, hiding his light-filled gaze behind lowered lashes. Harry was relieved; it was suddenly a lot easier to breathe when Edward didn't stare at him.

"He must have frightened you very badly," muttered Edward. "The thought of what he could have done to you is rather chilling..." Edward hesitated for a moment, then reached out and brushed his hand quickly over Harry's cheek.

Harry felt his skin burning against the marble-cold hand. "Yes," he whispered. "He was terrifying. I would rather face a hundred werewoves than meet another inhuman monster like him."

Edward yanked his hand back as if he had been burnt. There was a strange expression on his face that Harry could not interpret. Something like... Grief? Shame? Sorrow?

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you any of this..." Harry felt himself flush. "It's just... There is something about you that makes me want to talk to you."

"My apologies," said Edward stiffly. He turned abruptly away from Harry. "I will make sure that you do not feel similarly compelled in the future. In fact, I think it would be a good idea for us to spend much less time together. Why don't I just write up some notes on Wuthering Heights for you and leave them for you in your school locker?" His voice was suddenly as cold as his skin had been a moment ago.

Harry glanced suspiciously at him. Merlin, this boy's moods changed quickly! One minute, Edward was giving him these simmering golden looks, and the next moment, he acted as if Harry was covered in dragon dung. This was getting exasperating!

Edward was backing up slowly in the direction of the door, but Harry caught up with him, grabbed him by the collar, and held him back.

"Now what, Cullen?"

There was a strange expression of panic in the golden eyes, and Edward suddenly looked even paler than usual. "What? I don't know what you mean, Harry. Look, I've really got to go..."

Harry tightened his grip on Edward's collar. "What's with the sudden need to leave, Cullen? Is it the way I smell, or what?"

Edward emitted a small shaky gasp. "The way you smell? How... how do you know about that? What is it that you know about me, Harry?"

Harry let go of Edward's shirt, completely confused now. "You are making no sense at all, Cullen. But if my smell offends you, feel free to stay away from me in the future."

"Offends me-?" There was a sudden flicker of something dark and hungry in Edward's eyes. "No. No, Harry, your scent does not offend me. On the contrary. You are... Oh, God. You are- " He looked as if he was on the verge of saying something, but then he turned abruptly and dashed out of the door.

...

"Bill? Can I ask you for some advice?"

Bill pulled his rain-wet sheriff's coat off and flung it over a chair. "Of course, Harry. What's up?"

"Is there..." Harry hesitated. "Is there some sort of magical creature, shaped like a human, that makes you want to spill your inmost secrets when you look into its eyes?"

Bill laughed. "Yes. It is called woman, Harry. The phenomenon you describe is fairly common when encountering beautiful women, I believe. I remember experiencing it myself during my brief stint as a married man. I told Fleur so much about my inmost thoughts that I really should have cast an Obliviate on her after the divorce. Fortunately, I don't think my inmost thoughts struck her as all that interesting."

Harry flushed. "No, I don't mean women. Besides, Fleur is part Veela, so of course she had a funny effect on you."

Bill grinned, hung his gun nonchalantly on the towel rack in the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge. "I don't think it was just a Veela thing, Harry. But you are right; it's not just women who can have that devastating effect on you. I've dated people before Fleur, and I poured my heart out to some of them, too. It's generally recognized as one of the more dangerous side effects of falling in love, I believe. Want a root beer?"

"Yes, please." Harry accepted the drink and glanced curiously at Bill. "Who did you date before Fleur, then?"

"Well..." Bill pulled out a slice of leftover pizza and grimaced. "Pineapple? On pizza? There is just no end to the Muggle imagination when it comes to food, is there? What will they think of next? Well, I dated Aidan Lynch for a while... Now, he could make you spill your deepest, darkest secrets when he gazed at you with those dark blue Irish eyes!"

Harry choked on his root beer. "What? Aidan Lynch? The Quidditch player? But he's... He's a boy."

"Right." Bill took a big bite of the cold pizza. "And a very cute one, too. Too bad it didn't work out between us."

Harry stared at him. "You are gay? But you were married to Fleur!"

Bill shrugged. "I'm mostly gay. Except around Veelas, I suppose. They can be terribly hard to resist." He grinned when he saw Harry's expression of astonishment. "Oh, and just in case you are wondering: I think of you as a friend and a younger brother, Harry. Nothing else."

Harry had to smile. "I never thought differently, Bill."

Bill finished his pizza and helped himself to another slice. "So, about this magical creature you mentioned Harry... A girl in school? Or a boy?"

"A boy," muttered Harry.

Bill smiled. "Good-looking?"

Harry flushed. "Yes. But that's not what this is about. At least, I think it isn't. It's Edward Cullen. He asked if you were a werewolf."

"What?" Bill stared at him. "He knows about werewolves? Is he a wizard, then?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't really know. I don't think so. But he seems to have superhuman strength and speed, and he was trying to read my mind before. And his skin is strangely cold to the touch."

Bill's grin broadened. "Ah, you've been touching his skin, have you?"

Harry could feel his cheeks burning. "Just accidentally. And it's always cold as ice."

Bill picked the last few pieces of pineapple off his pizza and tossed them in the sink. "I see. Maybe he's a vampire or something, then. Vampire skin is usually icy cold, I understand."

Harry sank down in a chair opposite Bill. "Vampire? You think Edward is a vampire? Like... Oh, what was his name? The one I met at that horrible party Slughorn made me come to... Sanguini?"

"Sounds like he could be a vampire, yes. Oh, and next time you order pizza, could you perhaps ask them to put more meat on and less fruit?"

"Sure, Bill. So vampires possess superhuman strength and speed, then? And cold skin?"

"Mhm." Bill nodded and opened a can of beer. "And they are usually very good-looking, too, just like the Cullen boy. I met quite a few vampires while I was working for Gringott's, and I swear even some of the old goblins got a little flushed and flustered when the handsome vampires came to make their deposits. Didn't think we'd run into vampires here, but I suppose there must be some in America, too."

Harry nodded slowly. "I would imagine so. So Edward is a vampire... I suppose that explains why I felt so strange looking into his eyes, too, right? I reckon vampires have the power to mesmerize you with their glance and make you tell them all your secrets, right?"

Bill chuckled. "Actually, no."

"No?"

Bill leaned back in his chair and regarded Harry with a look of amusement. "I'm afraid not, Harry. So there has to be a different explanation for that. A touch of chemistry between the two of you, perhaps?"

Harry winced.

"What?" There was still a touch of laughter in Bill's voice.

"There is no chemistry," muttered Harry without looking up. "Just dragon dung. Edward Cullen hates me."

...

Edward kept his word. A brilliant analysis of Wuthering Heights showed up in Harry's school locker.

"Thanks," whispered Harry as he slid into the seat next to Edward's in biology class. "For the notes."

"You are welcome," muttered Edward without looking up. Harry sighed. Was this going to be like his fabled animosity with Draco Malfoy all over again? No. Harry did not need any more rivals or archenemies in his life. Edward had been moderately friendly for a little while - surely they could manage to be civil to one another?

Harry drew a deep breath. "Listen, Edward - a whole group of us are going to take a trip to some place called La Push. There is a nice beach there, apparently. Do you want to come?"

"La Push?" Edward glanced up quickly. "No. No, I don't think so." He averted his eyes again. Apparently, he had decided to be aloof and unfriendly again today.

"Suit yourself." Harry gave up. He shrugged and bent over his work.

After a long moment's silence, Edward bent closer and whispered: "Perhaps you shouldn't go there either, Harry. There are werewolves there. I've never heard of these ones attacking humans, but after hearing what happened to your uncle, I wonder if any of them can be trusted." For some reason, there seemed to be genuine concern in his golden eyes now.

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. "There are werewolves in La Push? Thanks for the warning." Better pack a wand for this beach trip, then. Merlin, Forks was turning out to be a more interesting place than he had ever imagined!

"My family and I are going camping next weekend," said Edward, unexpectedly. "So I won't be able to go to La Push."

Harry was puzzled. Now Edward sounded quite polite and normal again. All right, he could try to make conversation if Edward wanted to take another stab at being friendly.

"So," whispered Harry lightly, "are your sisters and brothers vampires as well?"

Edward gave a half-strangled gasp. "What? You... You know?" His golden eyes widened.

Harry nodded.

Edward looked down for a long moment. Then he raised his eyes and met Harry's gaze. "You have nothing to fear from me, Harry. I will not attack you." His voice was trembling ever so slightly.

Harry smiled a little. "I would hope not. I broke your nose last time, remember?"

A shadow of a smile brushed over Edward's pale face as well. "So you did. But still, you must be terrified of me, Harry, if you know what I am... How did you know, by the way? Did I remind you of... him?"

"Him who?" Harry felt terribly confused again.

"The one who gave you the scar." Edward's voice was almost inaudible.

"Voldemort?" Harry blinked slowly. "Why would you remind me of him?"

"He was a vampire, too, wasn't he?" breathed Edward.

Harry stared at him. "What? Oh, God, no! No, he was something quite different." He closed his eyes for a moment. A bloodsucking Voldemort? Now, there was an image that was going to add a whole new layer to his already vivid nightmares!

"Really?" Edward looked terribly relieved all of a sudden. "So you have never met another like me?"

"Another vampire?" Harry smiled. "Oh, I have actually. I met one at a party once."

"At a party?" Edward stared at him. "A vampire attended a party with humans?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Mr. Sanguini was there with his human lover, a man by the name of Worple."

Edward froze. For some reason, he just sat there, for a long moment, as still as if he were carved out of stone.

"Edward? Are you all right?"

Edward ran a hand over his forehead. "Yes. Yes, I'm just... Are you certain about this, Harry? This vampire you met had a human lover? I wouldn't have thought such a thing possible." His voice was suddenly hoarse.

"Why not?"

Edward faltered. "Well... The danger... Just being around humans is difficult enough... And to imagine being with one, as... as a lover..." His eyes met Harry's for a moment, and then he turned his gaze away abruptly.

Harry didn't know that vampires could blush. It was a rather fetching sight.

Edward swallowed. For some reason, his eyes were shining as he turned back to Harry. "I'm rather relieved to hear that this Voldemort was not a vampire, after all. What an interesting name, by the way! It means "Flight from death", doesn't it? Was he French?"

Harry shook his head. "No, he was British. And Voldemort was just a name he had assumed. His real name was Tom Riddle." There it was again, that curious desire to share his life story with the golden-eyed boy.

For some reason, Edward looked startled. "Tom Riddle? That name sounds terribly familiar. Where have I heard his name before?"


End file.
